Photo by my sister Philly Stokes
“In the silence of winter, we are invited to evaluate how we want to use our precious life force.”
Hilary Nicholls - Tuning In to the Wisdom of Winter published in Spirituality & Health magazine.
Hilary Nicholls - Tuning In to the Wisdom of Winter published in Spirituality & Health magazine.
It has been a long, dark, rain-soaked winter. Busy. Full. Demanding. I’ve felt the impact of beginning my work in the dark and returning home in the dark — the quiet erosion that can happen when there is little daylight to punctuate the rhythm of the week. For a while, I haven’t made it to my refuge — the beach hut, so I chose to prioritise it. This space is not an escape, it is a return.
On the walk there, I noticed raindrops creating soft constellations in puddles. Circles widening and dissolving. Nature modelling what I speak about so often in my therapy room: that emotions ripple, expand, settle.
My days are often spent holding family stories — their anxieties, griefs, identity explorations, family complexities, quiet hopes. It is work I feel deeply privileged to do. It is also work that asks something of me. Slowing down. Creating intentional space. Allowing myself to pause. The impact felt immediately restorative.
The responsibility to practise safely, ethically, and reflectively is central to my professional identity, in line with the framework of the British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy (BACP). The ethical guidance reminds us that good practice includes self-care, supervision, and ongoing reflection — not as luxuries, but as necessities.
For me, this time in the hut is part of that ethical commitment. There, without phone signal, without traffic, without interruption, I complete process notes. I think carefully about my clients — the themes emerging across sessions, the subtle shifts, the emotional landscapes unfolding. I reflect on the impact of the work on me, and on the gentle boundaries that protect both my clients and my own family life.
Connecting with nature consistently brings me back to what feels purposeful in my work. It reminds me that development is seasonal. That growth is rarely linear. That dormancy is not failure.
In her book Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, Katherine May writes:
“We have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again.”
This resonates deeply with the families I work with. Many arrive in what feels like an internal winter — withdrawn, uncertain, depleted. Our culture often pushes for perpetual productivity and visible success, but nature tells a different story. Plants and animals do not resist winter; they adapt. They conserve. They transform beneath the surface. Winter is not the end of the life cycle. It is its crucible.
In the hut, I am reminded that emotional winters serve a function. Therapy provides a protected space in which a child’s inner world can be explored safely. It can be thought of as a relational “beach hut”: consistent, sturdy and contained. Within this secure structure, trust develops. However, it does not take much to unsettle that sense of containment. For example, if session times are frequently changed or boundaries shift, the child may experience this as the walls of the hut moving or falling—no longer steady or reliable. Similarly, if the nature of the therapeutic relationship alters, such as a child who attends 1:1 therapy also encountering the therapist in a different, more public context (e.g attending my group yoga session), the hut may begin to feel less like a protected space and more like a public arena.
These examples highlight the importance of maintaining clear, consistent professional boundaries, and of carefully managing the separation between therapeutic, personal, and public roles. This also aligns closely with the BACP Ethical Framework, which emphasises the principles of trustworthiness, integrity, and the careful management of boundaries in order to safeguard clients. Maintaining these boundaries can be complex, particularly in community settings, yet it is essential in preserving the safety and containment that effective therapeutic work depends upon.
In my professional life, winter invites me to deepen roots, through supervision, reflection, and ethical practice. In my personal life, it invites familiar rhythms: brisk walks, books by the fire, hot chocolates and tea, blanket forts with family. When the shadows grow long and the nights longer still, I try to practise letting go of constant doing.
Winter’s emotional tapestry is woven with contrasting threads. The serene beauty of a frost-covered morning can evoke calm; the long darkness can stir isolation. Cozy moments by the fire kindle warmth, yet the biting cold can sharpen loneliness. I see these contradictions mirrored in my work: resilience alongside vulnerability, hope alongside fear. Finding a balance between opposing states, and opposing roles is part of this work.
Mindfully embracing winter means engaging with it rather than resisting it. Quiet walks in crisp air. Noticing frost patterns on branches. Listening to the muffled hush that descends after rainfall. Feeling the chill and then the comfort of warmth. In therapy, we do something similar — we notice sensations, thoughts, patterns. We sit with what is present. We allow space. There is wisdom in winters, just like Oscar Wilde wrote:
“Roots go deep to sow. Trees let go to grow”.
Rest becomes an act of integrity. The BACP speaks of working within our competence, monitoring our wellbeing, and ensuring that our practice does not harm. For me, wintering is part of that commitment.
Creating sanctuary allows me to continue offering presence, steadiness, and care to the clients who entrust me with their stories. For the children, young people and families I support — and for myself — winter is not something to endure reluctantly. It is a season of investigation and reconnection. Beneath the apparent stillness, transformation is quietly underway.
And sometimes, it begins with a rainy afternoon in a quiet hut by the sea.